


How many faces do you have?

by Rupzydaisy



Series: places Villanelle should not have been [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018), Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Crossover, Gen, Pre Killing Eve and Post Orphan Black, Villanelle goes on a hunt, Villanelle's POV, things go poorly for Villanelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 06:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18733591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rupzydaisy/pseuds/Rupzydaisy
Summary: It was natural for her to keep an eye on the work of others, so when a spree of murders connected to a big pharmaceutical company in America hit the headlines, she slumped into the pillows on her bed, took another sip of champagne, and delved into the gory details.One thing led to another until she found a photo in a database that matched one taken at a crime scene, and a second held in the records of a defunct shell corporation. It was when she saw the improbable third that she asked Konstantin for a week’s break citing terrible boredom and fashion requirements and potentially her own suicide or someone else's murder if she didn't get her way.He gave in after two days of her pestering and she booked her flight to America while reading up on the meagre scraps she could find on related advances in biotech and corporate sabotage in the cosmetic industry.Four times Villanelle met a clone (and the one time she was bested by one).





	How many faces do you have?

**Author's Note:**

> this is a crackfic idea which got fleshed out...whoops

It was entirely by accident. 

Freedom was one thing. Villanelle liked it, enjoyed it, embraced the distance between herself and the boundaries that tried to entrap her. When something shiny caught her eye in a shop window she would walk in and take it off the rail. Likewise, when something so tantalising fell into her lap she couldn't ignore it.

Accidents, on the other hand, when not of her own making generally meant trouble. They were not the way Villanelle preferred to work. 

It was natural for her to keep an eye on the work of others, so when a spree of murders connected to a big pharmaceutical company in America hit the headlines, she slumped into the pillows on her bed, took another sip of champagne, and delved into the gory details. One thing led to another until she found a photo in a database that matched one taken at a crime scene, and a second held in the records of a defunct shell corporation. It was when she saw the improbable third that she asked Konstantin for a week’s break citing terrible boredom and fashion requirements and potentially her own suicide or someone else's murder if she didn't get her way. He gave in after two days of her pestering and she booked her flight to America while reading up on the meagre scraps she could find on related advances in biotech and corporate sabotage in the cosmetic industry. 

 

* * *

 

 

The salon was a monstrosity of pristine white walls and silver gilded mirrors. Villanelle's heels slipped on the checker-board tiled floor as she approached the front desk, but she didn't look down. Instead she scanned the clients and the customers for who she was looking for with blinkered focus. 

After a moment of searching, Villanelle found  _ her. _

The primped woman was leaning up against the wall with a coffee mug in her hand and her phone in another tilting her head from side to side trying to capture as many angles as possible.   

“I want her.” Villanelle told the young, gormless receptionist with a bold, bubblegum pink smile, pointing out the blonde woman with the perfect curls and lip-glossed pout. 

It was a fascinating cover. Villanelle could see how it would be so easy to get close to targets as a beautician, and that was without considering the contacts she could make during a cover this deep. No, this one was clever to live out in the open and so boldly. 

The receptionist followed the line of her finger, “Krystal? Oh yeah, she's one our most popular technicians. I see she's had a last minute cancellation, so I can fit you in... say fifteen minutes?”

The girl looked up expectantly, waiting on her reply so Villanelle gave her a curt nod and sat herself down to wait in the closest chair in front of the mirror wall and continued to watch Krystal snap away a multitude of selfies. She attempted to keep count, tapping out the first fifty camera flashes and then gave up. 

Two minutes later, the receptionist seemed to have had another thought and stood back up to ask her, “Tea? Coffee?”

Villanelle smiled back at her, all teeth and thinly stretched lips, “Tea. And biscuits.”

Then she grabbed a magazine and began to flip through, mentally taking notes on things she wanted and might easily acquire. She drained the tea while it was still steaming hot and devoured the biscuits, waving obnoxiously to the receptionist for a top up only minutes later. But time passed quickly and it wasn't long until Villanelle was approached by the one she had come looking for.

“Hi, come on over! I'm Krystal, and I heard that you requested me.” She flipped her perfect blonde hair over her shoulder before continuing, “I always  _ love  _ meeting fans.”

She gestured to the white plastic seat at her station and Villanelle fought not to wrinkle her nose in disgust. With a small intake of breath, she sat down on artistic choice between a school chair and retro eighties furniture, and a bad choice at that, and immediately decided to burn her trousers after leaving.  

“So, what's your name?”

Putting the fate of her trousers behind her, Villanelle returned to her purpose and slapped on a broad smile that crinkled up at her eyes before answering, “Hannah, Hannah Manning.”

“Oh, is that an accent? Are you British? I love London!” Krystal gushed as she grabbed a pile of cream towels and began to work on Villanelle’s nails. “I love the cute little red mail boxes. Oh, and those men in uniform outside the Queen's palace.”

“Yes, I’m British. I'm visiting a penpal, of sorts.”

“That's like, so quaint. And how does that even work?”

“Shared interests, I guess.” Villanelle offered up with a small grin. “I met her online.”

“So, tell me everything!”

In the end, it was Villanelle who wound up listening to Krystal’s banal talk for over an hour, as her hands were massaged and her nails cut and buffed. It was a range of insipid topics from the latest flip flop styles, to the price comparisons of non-cosmetic surgery in Chicago, to the nutritional value of wasabi peas. Finally, and just as her composure began to slip, she was offered up Krystal's range of nail polishes. 

“You know, I studied tarot cards for three weeks. I can totally match you to the perfect colour.” Krystal leaned in and studied Villanelle's face with a serious expression, just as Villanelle leaned away from her. “You're the sort of girl who has secrets, hidden depths.”

“It's uncanny.” Villanelle quipped. 

Her smile tightened a fraction of an inch. Her restraint was wavering dangerously and normally when that happened things got messy, quickly. But she consoled herself with the idea that she'd be leaving soon. And that if she made a mess here, in front of a dozen witnesses, Konstantin would be unhappy and sigh big sighs for at least a month. She also figured that he would probably take her passport and ban her from travelling and shopping, which would be the worst. 

Krystal pulled out three options, a pale rose, a vivid floral pink, and a deep salmon. Hovering her fingertips over the tops, she came to a halt over the vivid pink and quirked a well-plucked eyebrow as though all the universe’s surprises had culminated in this divine little bottle.  

“I like it.” Villanelle smirked and rapped her smooth fingernails on the table in mock impatience. 

“Alright, one final coat. And, you know, I don't normally do this but you seem nice, so I wouldn't mind if it you wanted a selfie.

Villanelle stifled a laugh behind a cough. “Sorry, I'm on a social media detox. No phones for me.”

Krystal's mouth dropped. “Wow, good for you. I could never,  _ ever _ , do that.”

“It’s been rough, but you know sometimes you just see awful news online, murders, strange technologies...big bad corporations stealing money.”

“I know right, but hey, there’s likes and shares too.” Krystal nodded her head dumbly to the weird phrasing, and tipped her head to appraise her work. “Well, there you have it. I’ll just leave you here now to let it dry. Give it ten minutes.”

“Oh, all done?” 

“Yes, I’ve got my break now.”

“Well, thank you Krystal. It was lovely to meet you.”

Krystal offered up another smile, and snatched up her phone from the side of the table. “Yeah, you too, Hannah.”

Villanelle let her nails dry and then walked over to the receptionist to pay without another word. Then she walked out of the salon, only to pause at the window and turned to watch Krystal return from her break to tidy up her workstation and inevitably get distracted by something on her mobile.

_ No way is she that good _ ,  _ no way is anyone that good. _ Villanelle told herself in disbelief as she walked down the quiet street towards the bus station. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Villanelle adjusted her mustard sweater vest and glasses before raising her hand to knock on the door with the peeling paint. But, just before she could rap her knuckles on it politely, it flung open and a black bin bag was deposited by her shiny new leather shoes. Without a moment’s pause, she stuck her foot in the doorway and wasted no time in flashing an apologetic smile to the figure stepping back in surprise.

It was important to be appreciative of other people's time. It made them more willing to spill their secrets. 

And she knew she was on the right track here, compared to her earlier fumble with the oblivious nail technician. 

“How did you do it?” Villanelle asked, eyes narrowed and arm casually blocking the door from shutting again. 

The pale woman with black dreadlocks who had dumped the bin bag now blinked owlishly at Villanelle from behind her thick glasses. She pushed her glasses back with a finger and straightened up to look up and down the empty corridor. Then she looked back to the stranger standing in front of her with confusion splashed across her face and finally crossed her arms over her black hoodie.  

Villanelle thought it was excellent acting, perhaps even better in person.  

“Do what?” The woman asked, playing dumb.  

Villanelle shot a co-conspiratorial look she'd practised in the air plane bathroom. It was clear this one was the brains behind the whole operation, especially as she had authored scientific papers on genetics. As covers go, it was a well established one, and far more in the loop than the makeup artist. 

“You know what I mean...the whole doppelganger thing.” Villanelle said as she shifted into the doorway and leant back so that she was halfway into the office, watching as the woman’s eyes widened in recognition. 

There was a thread to pull on here, someone to flush secrets out of. 

“Who's there, Cosima?” 

There was a flash of white in the room behind her and another woman, one with a French accent, called out from inside. Villanelle craned her neck to see a tall blonde dressed in a pristine lab coat and checked trousers drift across the creaking office floor. She barely looked up with the clipboard in her hand as she crossed things off with broad strokes, but orientated herself in a way that assured Villanelle of her meticulousness. 

And there was something in the way that she moved that made Villanelle shift so that both her feet were firmly on the ground. It was like she was fully aware of what was going on at the door, and was just pretending not to be. 

“I don't know.” Cosima called over her shoulder, while the other woman shifted boxes. “Look, I really don't understand what you're talking about. And me and Delphine need to catch a flight so...move out of the way, please.” 

Villanelle backed off and let Cosima exit into the room while Delphine rolled out two small suitcases and then ducked back only to emerge holding a large, reinforced cool box. Without a word, they ushered Villanelle further out of the doorway so that she was back to her original spot in the hall. 

“Everything accounted for, and all doses are secure,” Delphine pocketed her phone. 

She then patted the cool box and clipped it to one of the suitcases with plastic straps. With a reassuring hand on Cosima's shoulder, the other woman smiled back nervously before jamming a hand onto her pocket. Cosima drew out a key with a scrape and turned her back on Villanelle to lock the door. 

Villanelle took the time to look over Delphine with a bit more care. The woman was tall, and composed, despite her friend’s flustering towards Villanelle. Now here, was a very good actress. They both pulled the corners of their mouths up in faux smiles at each other, allowing the seconds to pass until Cosima turned around. 

“Look, I'll be away for three weeks at the most so if it's anything urgent you can contact Maxwell on the first floor.” 

Cosima sounded half-apologetic as the pair of them walked off towards the stairs with their suitcases. But it left Villanelle standing there affronted for being brushed off. Something in her chest bubbled, burned, and then spilled over. Before she knew it, she was following them down the corridor, her shoes slapping away at the neglected floorboards. 

“Hey!” She called out impatiently, “Tell me, how did you do it? To keep up the facade long enough to infiltrate the neolutionists as their own chairwoman!”

Villanelle caught up to them, leaning over the side of the banister and showed all her bright, white teeth when the two woman ground to a halt at the turn half a flight below. Seeing the way that they had been brought to a halt meant that she knew she had struck a nerve. 

It was almost as sweet as sinking a knife into flesh. 

There was a shared, shocked look between the two women below before Delphine leaned down to whisper in Cosima’s ear.  

A pause, a moment, and Villanelle knew she’d have some answers. 

Cosima’s cheeks turned pink and her dreadlocks dipped further down her back as she tipped her head up, “On second thoughts, don't come back here! I'm calling security right now, and if you're still around when they get here they'll kick you off campus!” 

Then Cosima hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder and took Delphine by the elbow. They both quickly disappeared down the stairs and Villanelle reluctantly scanned the corridor, noting the newer security camera fixed to the old ceiling tiles. And was pointed in her direction. 

She stamped her shiny new leather shoe on the polished floor and gripped the handrail tighter until her knuckles turned white. 

Villanelle finally swallowed the building scream and whispered to herself a perfunctory, “How rude,” as she stalked off down the stairs, planning her next move.

When the security team arrived five minutes later. They only managed to find a discarded mustard yellow sweater vest on the staircase between the second and third floors. It was thrown into the lost and found and left unclaimed for seven months until a lab accident left a first year post grad student ended up with a very desperate need for new clothing.   

 

* * *

 

“How many of you are there?”

“I'm not sure what you mean?” 

The woman breezed around the edge of the table with a name badge pinned to her flowery shirt and perched lightly on the end, giving Villanelle a welcoming look much like every other middle-aged woman in the room. 

Alison Hendrix was another doppelganger. 

She too was playing dumb. Or possibly was dumb. It was hard to tell. 

And it was all beginning to frustrate Villanelle. 

“How many of you are...around?” 

Villanelle rephrased her question, looking expectantly at the surroundings as though another lookalike was about to pop out. It  _ could _ have been possible. The school hall was a vision of hell, full of middle aged woman dressed in their best clothes with slightly too-wide smiles manning their tables. 

Alison smiled and waved her hands in a modest way. “Well, I'm part of the team who dealt with refreshments,  _ small _ effort but big impact as you can imagine. It’s all for a good cause.”

She pushed forward the tray of homemade brownies and nodded at the donation box beside it. Villanelle stuck a hand on her pocket and pulled out a crumpled banknote before taking the largest end square and a napkin with the other. 

“Pockets through stomachs and all.” Alison giggled lightly as Villanelle took a bite. 

She nodded appreciatively at the level of chocolate and gave a wide smile at Mrs Hendrix to try and encourage her to keep talking. The woman did just that and gestured at the stalls and small groups around the hall. It didn’t seem like she had been warned off by the scientist with the same face, leaving Villanelle to wonder how well they were connected. 

“We've got our incredible fundraising team… and also our decor team, who between you and me didn't quite get that neon and teenagers don't  _ go well _ together.” 

Alison shot a look at a woman with greying hair in a purple pantsuit who was walking past quickly as the last group of teenagers wandered out of the door. 

“Millennium pink would have been a far more popular choice. Along with one of those fun photo booths, and a few raffle prizes, maybe then, we would have had a few more students taking part in the liaison committee, don't you think, Sandra?”

Sandra harrumphed at Alison's polite smile and continued to move as quickly as possible, intent on chasing down the escaping attendees who had filled up their pockets with free food and were ditching the event. 

Alison turned her attention back to the woman beside her. “What was I saying? Oh yes, there's officially ten people on the committee, but maybe around thirty of us in total. Were you interested in helping out? It’s a good way to make friends in the neighbourhood if you’re new.”

_ Ah,  _ Villanelle nodded, realising she had been rumbled as an outsider. 

She slapped both hands on the table, making Alison jump in surprise as she leaned in to ask, “Do all of you work around here? At the university, and the nail salon?” 

Confusion flitted across the doppelganger’s face and there was a twitch in her jaw before her lips widened into a gracious smile wide enough to rival the others in the room.

_ Gotcha _ , Villanelle thought triumphantly, and then hung her head in annoyance as the moment passed with the woman’s next words.  

“No, most of us are homemakers.”

“That's not what I meant.” Villanelle's smile got thinner and her eyes narrowed. 

“I...have to grab Sally. I don't think all the white wine is chilled. You help yourself to the brownies, and don’t forget to tell your friends to come over. I really do have to go.” Alison breezed past, quicker than either the teenagers leaving or the woman chasing them. 

As she left, she muttered under her breath, “And Lord knows we could do with a few more people in this hall.”

Villanelle watched her go with a heavy frown carving wrinkles into her face, and out of the corner of her eye saw the hippy homemaker shoot her twitchy looks when she thought Villanelle wasn't looking. Considering the whole encounter, and considering that being angry and frowning was doing nothing at all for her skin, she grabbed another napkin and loaded up on the little chocolate brownies. While her hands were busy, she returned to her theories and counted out, dividing and categorising as best she could, but still, things weren't adding up.

With a groan of frustration, she stuffed a couple more brownies into her pocket for good measure and moved on to her next promising lead. 

 

* * *

 

“Get out of here. We're done with all that nonsense.”

The door slammed shut, the letterbox rattled violently, and Villanelle was left standing under the porch light by herself. 

She rang the doorbell twice before kicking the door with her boots and then finally backed down from the stone steps to look up at the house. It looked...claimed. There were things along the windowsill in the front door, picture frames and knick knacks. Villanelle didn’t have many of those, and the ones she did have were expensive and replaceable. Photos were more tangible, they were memories. In her opinion, the doppelgangers embroiled in a convoluted conspiracy shouldn’t be living like this, out in the open with friends and schools, and children. 

_ This one _ had been warned, Villanelle hadn’t even the chance to say a word before the door had hit her nose. While she knew that a door was nothing at all, a mere barrier to navigate, work around, or obliterate, it irked her to know that someone had talked to someone making her something to avoid. 

These doppelgangers were good. They lived out in the open with all their secrets. 

Her questions needed to have answers. 

They had  _ things _ Villanelle wanted.  

One of the upstairs curtains twitched and a small, round face popped up from under the window ledge to peek down at her. It was a small girl and Villanelle stepped back a little more to get a better look at her. She had a round face with a mass of curly blonde hair. Her eyes widened when she saw Villanelle looking up, and she hastily dipped down, back out of sight. 

Villanelle hovered on the spot when there was more noise inside the house. Footsteps thundered on stairs and up the hallway. There was a silhouette against the glass panels of the front door and she almost stepped up to it again. 

Almost. 

“I know you're still out there. Clear off you nutter, or I’ll call the police! I mean it, or I’ll come out there myself!”

The voice was insistent and the threat that the woman behind the door might come out had Villanelle fingers running over the knife holstered underneath her denim jacket. Not many people made promises like that, and yet these women had taken on their share of opponents. Perhaps, it was better to pick a fight somewhere else. Cornered mice always scratched a bit, anyway.   

_ Next time, I’ll get my answers.  _

 

* * *

“You're different.” Villanelle stated as she lowered her sunglasses with a finger. 

Villanelle leaned forward in the deckchair, although it was hard to do it smoothly when it creaked loudly. The blonde woman visibly bristled at the sight of the stranger in her garden but then tossed her head, as if to shake of the thoughts fizzing up inside. This one was blonde too, like Krystal, but her hair was a wild mass of curls. 

She set down the laundry basket with wet clothes and smiled. It wasn't a very well practised smile, more like a fraction of an inch away from a snarl, and she asked in an equally practised tone, “Hello. I'm Helena. How can I help you?” 

Villanelle quite enjoyed holding the reins of the conversation, out in the open, and in the privacy of the suburban high fence and hedges. 

“Tell me. How do you all do it? Because there's definitely more than one of you, and the other one, the preppy one said  _ sisters _ ...Are you triplets?”

“Preppy?” 

Helena looked confused. 

It was clear to Villanelle that she didn't enjoy being confused, because the look disappeared in a heartbeat and was replaced with another tight smile. However, Villanelle did enjoy watching Helena flounder in the middle of the garden in front of a stranger. It had been a turn up for the books when she found out that both Helena and Alison lived in the same house. The preppy school mother with the pixie cut had shepherded her children into her van and drove off, and then half an hour later the blonde haired one emerged from the garage with her laundry basket. 

Two woman, living two lives under the same house, with the same face. 

It would have been enough to make anyone’s head spin. 

“But you're all very different.” Villanelle pressed on, intent on getting her answers. “Even just standing here in front of you for a minute, I can see that. How do you do it?

She waved a hand in front of her, gesturing to the whole picture in front of her. Her stance was closed and coiled up, nothing like the defensive front Cosima had put up on the staircase, or the elusive airiness Alison had flustered with in the school hall. Yet she had planted herself quite firmly between Villanelle and the garage, and frowned each time Villanelle’s gaze drifted from her to the open door. 

“Do what?” 

“Pretend to be someone else so well. I've counted, there's at least five of you, but then it must be triplets, not twins.”

Realisation dawned in Helena's eyes right before she snorted loudly. “Oh, yes.  _ Sestras.  _ I am a twin.”

“Two of you?” Villanelle frowned, twisting it out in her head and tried to piece together how it would work. “So the other one is the doctor and the preppy one? You must put in a lot of work if you're the grumpy one too.”

“Yes, I can be grumpy.” Helena’s bottom lip rolled up as she confessed bluntly.  

Villanelle jumped to her feet and darted past her, slipping through the open garage door and backing away towards the two cots in the centre of the room. She let out a laugh, high and soft in surprise as she slipped between the two of them to look down at the small, pudgy faces. Now she had her leverage, and she could crowbar her answers out of the one person who had them. 

“And babies, as cover? Why bother?” 

“Leave my babies.” Helena said low and slowly, “They cried for a long time before, sleeping is best now.”

“They're not actually yours though.” Villanelle saw Helena's fingers twitch and leaned back from the cot with another surprising revelation. “They are?” 

Helena leaned over the side of the cot opposite her to adjust the blankets on the baby wearing purple socks and smiled softly over its peaceful face. Then she looked up at the Villanelle and jerked her head sideways. When Villanelle didn’t move, she exhaled loudly and gave in. 

She continued fluffing the sides of the blanket and moved around the cot towards Villanelle with her eyes fixed on the baby. “You came here to ask about how many  _ sestras  _ I have?” 

Because Helena’s dark eyes never left the cot, Villanelle had no warning when her hand shot out and grabbed the back of her neck with wiry fingers. The woman twisted on the spot and with surprising force slammed Villanelle's head into the brick wall hard enough for her to black out. 

Villanelle woke to find her hands behind her back and her ankles tied together with plastic cable ties. She wriggled on the spot, trying to tense and loosen her joints in order to slip out, but her movements were noticed quickly and Helena hunkered down beside her with a phone in the crook of her neck. 

She flicked Villanelle on the forehead, “Good, you're awake. Babies are still sleeping so no shouting or I will knock you out again.”

Helena slipped the phone back up to her ear, “Donnie, I have an errand to run, you will need to come and watch the babies.” She paused and then added, “Please.”

There was a long gap of quiet in the garage, while Helena rummaged through Villanelle’s pockets with her free hand. When Villanelle hissed as her new pair of sunglasses were chucked across the room, she received a murderous glare and continued to try and loosen the too-tight plastic ties. 

“No, I have to do it now. It's important. Yes, good.” Helena finished the phone call and her attention returned to Villanelle. “You came looking for me and my  _ sestras _ . It's not a good idea. Go home now and don't come back.”

Villanelle pulled her knees up to get some purchase on the ground and shook her head as she shakily got to her feet. There was a ringing in her ears, and the skin around her left eye smarted, a lot. Helena’s introduction to her countertop would leave a bruise, but Villanelle was sure she could offer something in repayment. As she got to her feet, the shift in her shoulders meant that her hands were at a different angle, with more room between the wrists. If she kept talking for long enough, she could slip right out. 

She stepped forwards, staggering a little even though her balance had returned. “Tell me how you do it. You're too good. You change everything. The way you walk, talk, even the way you stand and breathe. Your accent is too good to not be real, you're from Ukraine...and there's something different in your eyes too.”

Helena sighed loudly and grabbed Villanelle by the neck roughly. She shook Villanelle until her teeth rattled. No matter how much Villanelle squirmed, she couldn't break the bruising grip.  

“No. If you come looking for my  _ sestras _ again...if I find out that you are near, then I will come for you.”

With a final shake for good measure, and another smash, the world went black.

* * *

 

 

Villanelle awoke in darkness and breathed in warm, stale air. “Ow.”

She rubbed her neck, feeling the soreness where the crazy blonde woman had grabbed her, and realised that her hands were now free. 

Then Villanelle put her palms out and felt cardboard, realising that if she was freed, then she was in a different location. She could hear noises from outside, cars, and a loud droning too. When she threw the first punch, her hand went straight through the cardboard and let sunshine in. She covered her eyes and blinked at the bright light, and then she ripped her way out through the side. 

Immediately jumped to her feet, half expecting a fight with the crazy blonde woman with the two babies living in the garage of her doppelganger sister. 

But she was disappointed when she found herself into a parking lot. A plane flew overhead, low and loud, and when she turned around she could see signs for the airport terminal. 

Villanelle crossed her arms tight around her chest and screamed until her throat hurt. Then she stamped her foot for good measure. A couple who had parked up a little further down and were walking to the bus pick up with their matching suitcases picked up their speed while avoiding eye contact. She screeched again in their general direction and turned back to the half-destroyed cardboard box. 

The message was written with glitter, in bright red and gold, with a little extra smeared underneath.

_ And don't come back x _

“Fine, I don't even like America.” 

She rolled out her tense shoulders, grabbed her broken sunglasses from the bottom of the box, and then kicked the ripped cardboard for good measure.

“I'm glad I haven't got sisters,” declared Villanelle with a sense of finality and then she headed off to the airport terminal. 

  
 


End file.
